


Just Like Normal

by sparxwrites



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Anal Sex, Daddy Kink, Embarrassment, Kink Negotiation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:31:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2108208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"…What did you just call me?" asks Grif.</p>
<p>There's enough amusement in his voice that Simmons feels himself flush from head to toe - and, more awkwardly, his arousal flagging from the soul-crushing embarrassment his mistake has generated.</p>
<p>"N- nothing!" squeaks Simmons, and if the sketchy answer isn't enough to give away the fact he's lying, he's pretty sure the fact his voice has gone up by about six octave will be. He rolls his hips up against Grif's, tries to convince him to start moving again and forget the brief blip.</p>
<p>(Or, the one where Grif and Simmons are about as good as sex as they are at everything else - ie. terrible, but happy.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Like Normal

**Author's Note:**

> a small, sort-of present for [grifkillafiveone](grifkillafiveone.tumblr.com) over on tumblr, because she's wonderful. uninventive title is uninventive, apologies for that.

"…What did you just call me?" asks Grif.

There's enough amusement in his voice that Simmons feels himself flush from head to toe - and, more awkwardly, his arousal flagging from the soul-crushing embarrassment his mistake has generated.

"N- nothing!" squeaks Simmons, and if the sketchy answer isn't enough to give away the fact he's lying, he's pretty sure the fact his voice has gone up by about six octave will be. He rolls his hips up against Grif's, tries to convince him to start moving again and forget the brief blip.

It doesn't work.

"You _did_ say something," says Grif, shaking his head. "Sounded like-" He pauses, raises an eyebrow and smirks. "Nah, you say it."  
"I'm not saying anything," snaps Simmons, feels the scarlet of his blush spread to the roots of his hair and under his fingernails. It's agonising.

Grif shrugs. "Fine, then," he says. "Be like that. I'm not going anywhere until you repeat it, though." And just like that, he stops holding himself up, sprawls out over Simmons like a terrifyingly large cat with a sigh of contentment.

"Get off me! Fatass!" Simmons half screeches, shoves at Grif's bulk that's currently pinning him to the bed, but it's like trying to budge a particularly stubborn bull walrus. In other words, impossible. Grif just hums delightedly, nuzzles against the side of Simmons' neck, and ignores the squawk of protest at how scratchy his several days' worth of stubble is with a practiced air.

For several minutes, pride and embarrassment keep Simmons silent and avoiding eye contact. It's only when his vision starts tingeing grey at the edges and he thinks, slightly hysterically, that dying crushed under the weight of a man who still has his dick up Simmons' ass is really _not_ how he wanted to go, that he whacks Grif on the shoulder. "Move," he wheezes, hits Grif again when the other man doesn't budge. "Move, I can't breathe!”

Reluctantly, with a fair amount of grumbling, Grif flips them over so he's lying on the bed, Simmons sprawled on his chest. "Your metal bits were poking me, anyway," he says, flicking a finger against a sheet of metal that covers half of Simmons' chest.

Unfortunately, although the change of position stops Simmons from being crushed to death, it doesn't make him any more talkative. Not that Grif doesn't try - he pokes and prods and tickles, kisses whatever starbursts of freckles he can reach, skates fingers all over Simmons' skin and plays with the joints between his biological body and his mechanical one.

Nothing. Not so much as a whisper.

Eventually Grif throws his head back against the pillows with a groan. "Come _on_ , just admit it!" he says, frustration thick in his voice.

He's still running the pad of his thumb back and forth over the point where skin meets metal on Simmons' left shoulder, though, the motion slow and strangely calming. It's enough of a distraction to make Simmons finally un-clam.

"Fine!" says Simmons, voice shrill with distress. "Fine, I- I called you _daddy_ and I- I-" He trails off into anxious stutters, and then hides his head against Grif's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he mumbles, eventually, voice muffled. "It won't happen again."

He's not quite sure what kind of reaction he was expecting - more laughter, maybe, or probably teasing knowing Grif - but a vaguely annoyed huff certainly wasn't what he was expecting.

"What?" he asks, bracing himself for Grif to push him off, tell him to get out.  
"Never said I didn't want it to happen again," says Grif, slow and a little awkward, shrugging one shoulder. "But hey. Whatever you want."

"I- you- what?!" manages Simmons, the scarlet blush coming back full force. He finally manages to make eye contact, and can't quite believe it when he can't find anything mocking or jokey in Grif's expression.

Grif shrugs again. "It's not a big thing of mine, but it's obviously a big thing of yours," he says, and Simmons cringes a little how apparently transparent he is. "And I'm cool with it."  
"…Seriously?" asks Simmons, hating how small and hopeful his voice sounds.

“Seriously,” says Grif, for once without the slightest hint of teasing in his voice. That, alone, is what makes Simmons relax a little – muscles un-tensing enough that Grif feels safe to slide a hand over his boyfriend’s hip and squeeze the skinny curve of his ass, murmur in his ear, “So. You gonna be a good boy for Daddy, then?”

The full-body shudder that runs through Simmons at the words is enough to make him smile.

A moment later, Simmons is scrambling to push himself upright, legs sliding sideways so he’s straddling Grif’s hips. “Yes!” he says, voice a little higher than normal, blush still pink on his cheeks. “I- I can be good! I promise!”

It takes the careful guidance of Grif’s hands on his waist to lift him up, sink him down onto Grif’s cock again, and they both groan quietly at the sensation. There’s a second’s pause, and then Simmons braces his hands against Grif’s shoulders, rolls himself up onto his knees, and lets himself fall again with a shaky exhale and an answering, “ _Fuck_ ,” from Grif.

It takes him a minute or so to establish a good rhythm, a good angle that has him gasping out air ever time he drops back down, chin tucked against his chest and eyes half-lidded. He can’t quite believe this is still happening after what he said. Can’t believe that he’s allowed to say it _again_.

He’s licking his lips to try and build up the confidence to let the _daddy_ stuck in his throat slip out again when he realises that Grif isn’t moving.

More than not moving, Grif is pretty much dead still. His hands are still on Simmons’ hips, but he’s not helping Simmons move in the slightest, and eventually Simmons gathers his wits and enough breath to manage, “Are you- going to do anything?”

“Nah,” says Grif, casually, stretching out a little more and putting his hands behind his head for good measure. “It’s quite nice being the one doing nothing for a change.” Even he can’t quite hold in a snort of amusement at how completely untrue that is – virtually his entire life is spent doing as much nothing as he can, and although he’s an attentive lover, he’s not always an energetic one. “I’m quite happy just lying here, watching you…”

Simmons scowls, and he laughs.  
  
"You're an asshole," Simmons snaps, scowling even harder when Grif just grins.  
"Don't be rude," he teases, _finally_ bucks his hips up as Simmons is dropping down and licks his lips a little at the gasp he gets in response. "Good boys don't swear. I'll have to wash your mouth out with soap, if you're not careful."

Simmons pulls a face, sticks his tongue out in disgust, rhythm stuttering. "Oh, please no. Soap in the mouth is really, really not sexy." He stills, looks down at Grif with an arched eyebrow. "You're terrible at this."  
"So are you!" argues Grif, all pretence at looking sexy sliding off his face as he lets go of Simmons’ hips to throw his hands up in the air. "I'm trying to make you happy and all you're doing is bitching and whining!"

There's a pause, a moment where they both just look at each other, and then Simmons grins. "Just like normal, then."

It’s ridiculous, the pair of them in bed and arguing like an old married couple, but it’s _them_. And that’s enough to make it perfect, so Grif just grins right back. " _Exactly_."


End file.
